


Banana Pancakes

by SaunterVaguely



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-29
Updated: 2012-04-29
Packaged: 2017-11-04 12:26:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaunterVaguely/pseuds/SaunterVaguely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bobby and Crowley have been fooling around in secret for a while- and Bobby starts to realize that maybe it means more to Crowley than he'd thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Banana Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing, no one, etc.  
> Inspired by the idea that maybe Crowley likes to be reminded that he was human once, with real human emotions and everything (but not in a soppy way).

...

Bobby grunts wordlessly, summoning the demon at his kitchen table with a jerk of his head as he makes for the sofa. He knows Crowley understands his meaning, and sure enough, when the old hunter looks up from clearing the cushions, the smaller man is standing in the doorway, loosening his tie and watching Bobby.

The human tosses a pillow to the floor and reaches out, catching hold of that tie (stupid thing probably costs more than all of Bobby's clothes put together) and dragging the black-haired being closer. Crowley hisses in annoyance when his tie and jacket are flung across the room to land on the stairs and lamp.

A battered cap and plaid shirt hit the floor, followed by a belt. Bobby sinks his teeth into Crowley's neck, his beard scratching the Scot's collarbone. Crowley 'hmm's and responds by twisting his fingers into the hunter's thinning hair as the larger man hauls them toward the couch.

"Robert."

"Mnf."

"D'you ah-" The demon clears his throat, sounding almost... well, awkward. "D'you suppose we could maybe relocate to the," another cough. "Er, bedroom?"

"What?" Bobby pulls away to stare quizzically at the brunette. "What the hell for?"

"Nothing," Crowley says quickly, shaking his head. "Forget it."

The hunter scowls disbelievingly but doesn't push the matter further when the shorter man drops to his knees and proceeds to do things with his tongue that should be illegal, or at least physically impossible.

A week later, with the boys out of town and the taxes unfinished, Bobby pushes Crowley face-first onto the carpet, both their trousers around their ankles as he rolls a rubber on. He's got two finger buried in the demon, quick and perfunctory in his preparation (after the first time, with no lube and only a quick fumbling prep, after seeing all the blood that followed, he's been more careful, and although there's still blood nearly every time he feels better about himself- Crowley may get his rocks off on bleeding, but he can heal himself and Bobby isn't quite that twisted), and when he withdraws them the dark-eyed man turns to look over his shoulder at the human.

"Could I..."

"Could you what? I'm kinda in the middle of somethin' here," Bobby snaps.

"Turn over?"

"Like- on your back?" The hunter squints, confused once more and not a little suspicious- because he has to be, screwing a demon.

"Never mind," Crowley turns back toward the floor, leaning on his elbows and pushing back to rub himself distractingly against Singer. "C'mon, darling, I haven't got all day."

"Shut up," the bearded man growls, successfully deterred, as he roughly enters the unnaturally warm body below him.

Crowley grunts and thrusts with him, breathing unevenly and rutting into the rug.

The next day, as rain pounds the windows and roof, Bobby bemoans the empty bottle before him. Sighing, he places another pan under yet another leak in the ceiling.

Something appears in the corner of his eye, and he looks up to see Crowley bearing a solicitous smile and a fresh bottle of Jack.

He grumbles his thanks, accepting the bottle after a moment of hesitation but not opening it.

"Well," the demon says, peering around at the damp house. "This is... quite pleasant."

"Shove it," the old human says. "You wanna climb up on the roof in this weather and patch it up yerself?"

Crowley treats him to a condescending smirk, lifts a hand, and snaps his fingers. And quite suddenly, the sound of water hitting metal is only coming from outside- no steady flow of runoff hitting the pans, no slow gurgle of backed-up septic tank flooding the basement.

"...Huh," Bobby manages.

"Better?" Crowley asks in his sultry lilt, stepping closer, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah." The hunter takes a shuffling step toward the fridge, which accidentally brings him within inches of the demon's face. He clears his throat uncomfortably. "Uh, thanks I guess."

"Anytime, darling," the smaller man smiles briefly, leans in, and ends up planting his lips on the side of Bobby's jaw as the human turns his head away in surprise.

"The hell d'you think yer doin'?"

Now Crowley looks uncomfortable. "I, ah-"

"What, you think I'm gonna swap my soul again just for some booze and a patch job? What am I, your prom date?" Singer glowers.

"I wasn't-"

The door slams open. "Hey, Bobby-o! You in?" It's Dean, followed by Sam and a perplexed-looking Castiel.

There's a faint rush of air, and when the hunter turns back it's to an empty kitchen.

"Wow, Bobby," Sam says, ducking into the room. "You've been busy; all the leaks are gone!"

Bobby grunts, opening the bottle in his hand and sniffing it.

"Yeah, it is a lot less drafty in here," Dean agrees, swiping at the bottle. The older man yanks it away from him, glaring and feeling strangely territorial. Dean holds up both hands. "Aw c'mon, Bobby, can't you share?"

"Was a present," the bearded man grumbles defensively, taking a swig to hide his flushed face.

When he glances up, they're all staring at him (even the angel). "What?" He snaps.

"Uhh, someone gave you a bottle of whisky as a present?" Sam lifts an eyebrow.

"You got a girlfriend tucked away somewhere?" Dean grins.

"Yeah," Bobby rolls his eyes at the older Winchester. "Sweet little gal called None-a-yer-business McShut-uperson."

Sam snorts and Castiel tilts his head, Dean muttering, "Touchy," under his breath. Bobby ignores them all and takes another swallow before turning the focus to whatever the monster of the week is.

It's a few days later that it dawns on Bobby.

It's a sort of sneaking suspicion at first. Like the morning he wakes up to freshly-made banana pancakes on his bedside table. Or apparently never-ending supply of rock salt in his basement. Or when all the holes in his shirts miraculously repair themselves and all the rotgut in his cabinets turns itself into Grade-A bourbon. Okay, so it's less a sneaking suspicion and more like getting beaten over the head with the idea.

The next time Crowley appears in the auto yard, leering, just as Bobby is bending down to grab a spark plug that fell, the hunter is ready for him. Straightening and wiping his oily hands on a rag, he turns to look the demon square in the eye.

"Right," he grunts, lifting his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow as well and managing to smear oil all over his forehead and nose.

Crowley makes an exasperated sound, reaching into his coat and pulling out- Bobby rolls his eyes so hard it hurts- a  _red silk kerchief_ , then taking a firm hold of the human's chin and dabbing at the stains with a "what am I going to do with you?" look on his face, and the old hunter has never been more grateful for the fact that he lives in isolation and no one has to see this. And, okay, so maybe it's kind of nice to be fussed over like this, but there's a snowball's chance in Hell that he's ever gonna admit that.

When Crowley releases him (his thumb lingering briefly on Bobby's jaw), Singer replaces his cap and makes for the house, knowing that his demonic shadow will follow him.

In the living room he stops, taking a breath. Behind him, Crowley tilts his head, perplexed.

"Problems, luv?"

_Here goes nothing._  He turns to face the dark-haired man once more. "Okay," he says, "I get it now."

"Get what, darl _nnh_!"

For once, Bobby is the one wishing he had a camera phone, because the expression on Crowley's face is absolutely priceless.

Before the kiss can deepen, the human pulls back. Says, "I get it," again, quietly. And he does. Feels like a bit of a jackass, honestly, for not realizing earlier. He's talked to Dean, he knows what kind of depraved shit goes on down in the pits. He wonders how long Crowley was on the rack before he gave in and picked up a blade. He wonders if Crowley would tell him, if he asked. He sighs and slides his fingers under the lapels of that stupidly pricey suit, tugs until the confused demon stumbles along with him up the stairs.

Bobby drags the smaller man down the hallway, and when they reach the bedroom, Crowley actually halts, stopping sharply and staring pointedly at the hunter. He's never been allowed in there, thanks to a series of wards, traps, and choice words. And on some level, despite his teasing and obnoxious innuendos, Crowley's respected that- like he knows that it's  _Bobby and Karen's_  room, and not to be intruded upon. Last week was the first time he's made any sort of serious comment about it.

"C'mon," the hunter growls back at him, standing in front of the bed.

The demon frowns suspiciously.

Bobby sighs, rolling his eyes, and unzips his pants.

Crowley shuffles into the room, managing to look both skeptical and intensely interested. As soon as he is within range, the human grabs him by the wrist and hauls him in for another quick kiss. This time Crowley is eager for it, leaning in, practically melting into the other man's embrace. When his fingers skitter down Bobby's chest and toward the open fly, the hunter catches his hand again and looks at him measuredly.

"What's the problem, luv?" The demon's eyebrows lift playfully.

"This," Bobby makes a quick gesture between them. "This is a problem."

The teasing light goes out of the dark eyes in a flash, and Crowley looks- not  _hurt_ ; such a mundane human word doesn't seem applicable-  _off-balance_  is maybe the closest way to describe his expression. That, too, is gone in an instant and he starts to pull away, but the hunter won't let him.

"Hold yer horses, I didn't say I was done with ya."

"Well, then, what-"

"I meant," the American furrows his brow, "I meant the way things've been. Look, I've been-" He pauses again, suddenly hearing Dean's voice in his head saying something about chick flick moments. "I've been goin' hard and rough with this thing between us because... well, it made it easier for me to pretend like it didn't mean anything, and because I figured you liked it that way."

"Never said I didn't, dearest!" The smaller man puts on his best 'well, I never!' face.

"Never said you  _did_ , either," Bobby points out, and the demon falls silent. "That first time, all that blood- I thought that was just how this kinda thing goes. It's not exactly somethin' I can ask around about, y'know?" Another sigh. "I wish you'd spoken up, told me to go easy once in a while. But I also wish I'da noticed earlier."

Crowley is looking at him, silent and wide-eyed and staring like Bobby's an entirely new creature. Bobby continues, because he's more or less on a roll now.

"I think we both like to forget that you used to be human. And no matter how demonic or King-of-Hell-High-and-Mighty you get, or how many years you spent gettin' the decency beaten outta ya, there's probably always gonna be a good-sized part of ya that stays that way."

He keeps his eyes down- doesn't want to see Crowley's face just yet, because it'll only throw him off.

"And while yer still a dirty rotten bastard and ya probably had at least some of what happened comin' to ya, you don't need more grief from the one person you trust enough to take it slow with," the human finishes at last, feeling the weight of his speech lift. He takes a breath, lets it out, and meets the demon's gaze.

Crowley swallows thickly, looking _off-balance_  again. "I, ah..." He says.

Bobby steps in, raises a hand to cup his companion's rounded chin. "So, that was my pitch. And if you're still in, I'm still in, but it ain't gonna be the same rough-and-tumble as it used to be. Hear me?"

The former King of Hell blinks twice, his jaw working a moment like he's chewing on his next words. He nods instead of speaking and Bobby figures that's good enough, leaning in to kiss him.

This time he  _definitely_  uses tongue.

Crowley makes a relieved sort of noise and grabs at the hunter's shirt, peeling it off and flinging it somewhere, then stroking up under his t-shirt. Bobby almost flinches from the explorative fingers- it's been so damn long since anyone's touched him like this that it almost feels strange. It seems Crowley's having the same thought- his hands fumble when the human reaches out and begins unbuttoning his fancy-ass suit jacket. It happens again when Bobby slides the shirt underneath open and covers his chest with both palms, feeling the unnatural heat that radiates from the demon's body. Crowley, in spite of his obvious uncertainty, has pressed closer and is pressing tender bites and sucking kisses along Bobby's suddenly bare shoulder, up his neck to his jawline. When the hunter finally, gingerly, places a hand over the tented crotch in his partner's trousers, the smaller being lets out something between a moan and a shocked gasp.

And damn if that sound doesn't send a jolt right down Bobby's spine and make this sort of 'cautiously uncomfortably interested' feeling rev full-throttle into 'let's do this right here right now, these clothes need to be gone yesterday' mode. He applies firm pressure to the growing bulge under his palm and is instantly rewarded with another groan and an armful of suddenly very pliable, clingy demon. And then Crowley seems to grow a dozen arms at once, all of them working frantically to rid the human of his pants, hat and underwear and shove him onto the bed, where he lands with an undignified 'oof'.

Crowley follows him with almost snakelike grace, slipping over the sheets and into the human's personal space once more to catch his mouth and simultaneously grind against his leg. Bobby growls- dear lord, he actually  _growls_ \- and flips them over, working to get the King of the Crossroad into a similar state of undress. Huffing in frustration at the last two buttons on the dark-haired man's shirt, he rips the fabric open and chucks it away. Before Crowley can protest, the sensation of rough beard and hot tongue drags itself over a nipple, and the demon finds himself quite content to melt into the mattress and let his hunter go to town on him.

Which is exactly what Bobby does. Wrestling briefly to yank both pants and shoes off (fortunately for him, his companion doesn't wear underwear very often), he is quite suddenly presented with the never-before-seen image of a fully naked, ramped-up and very much ready to go Crowley, complete with half-lidded eyes and a variety of stubble-burns and bite-marks across his chest. Crowley, who reaches abortively for him before lowering his arms and instead shifting so that his legs are spread out, inviting, toes trailing up the back of Bobby's calf. The human looks momentarily withdrawn, like he's steeling himself, and the brunette tenses at the quick bolt of panic in his chest.

"Problem?" He asks lazily, covering.

Bobby seems to jolt himself out of wherever he went, shaking his head. "Nope. Just, uh, gettin' my bearings... it's not like I've done this before. So uh, apologies in advance if I fuck it up."

Crowley frowns. "Sorry, you've lost m _aaaahhhhhh_!" His back arches involuntarily, toes gripping spasmodically at the blankets, as the hunter ducks without any warning and takes him halfway down his throat. And  _holy fuck_ , for a man with no practice he's doing  _much_  better than he ought to be.

Bobby isn't entirely sure what he's supposed to be doing, and his jaw is uncomfortable already, but the sounds, sweet Jesus, the sounds the demon is making above him are enough to make him suck it up (literally) and bob his head a few times, trying to use his tongue to the best of his ability. From the death-grip Crowley has on his shoulder, he'd say it's working.

Then Crowley starts babbling, "Stop, Bobby, guh- oh- st-ssst-aahhh, oh fuck, stop, hang on-"

Bobby's tempted to keep going (and there's something he never thought he'd be tempted to do, but the way the demon's voice has gone all hoarse and broken has got him practically at the edge himself), but A: he doesn't want to finish up just yet and B: he really doesn't think he's ready to handle a mouthful of demon jizz. So he pulls off, wiping absently at his mouth and rubbing his jaw a little as he sits back to admire his handiwork.

His handiwork who is looking up at him like he's a god.

Crowley's chest is heaving, his cock flushed and his eyes burning. "Bobby..." He rumbles in his roughest, darkest voice, a voice that sounds like coffee and cigarettes and caves so deep they have no bottom. It's all Bobby can do not to come right there and then, which is embarrassing.

There's a snap, and a condom and bottle of lubricant appear on the bed next to them. Crowley spreads himself even wider, blatant and inviting, the familiar devious smirk returning to his lips. That won't do; Bobby's determined to wipe that grin off and bring back that look of shocked pleasure.

He pops the cap and dribbles some fluid onto the fingers of his right hand, placing the left on Crowley's hip as he leans forward. Instead of the usual quick shove, he takes his sweet time- tracing the rim, sliding a single finger in slowly and working it in as deep as it'll go, then dragging it out even slower.

"Robert..." The demon growls, curling a leg around Bobby's waist in an attempt to goad him on.

Bobby ignores him, adding a finger and curling them both just enough to catch on the rim when they're withdrawn, making the leg around his waist jump and tighten. He pauses, pouring more lube out in an exaggeratedly casual manner. Crowley actually  _whines_.

"Bobby, come  _on_."

"Calm down, I'm not goin' anywhere and neither are you." He recaps the bottle and dips the tips of three fingers just shy of their target, circling. "I want it to actually be _good_  for you this time."

The demon shudders, fingers curling. "Bobby," he pleads. "It's good, it'll be good, please, for fuck's sake  _yessssssss_ -" He hisses as all three digits breach him and spread easily, feeling a hot pulse of precum hit his belly. "Noooo..." He groans when the fingers are withdrawn once more.

Hands shaking with arousal, nearly blind with it, Bobby somehow manages to roll on the condom and slick himself up, settling between Crowley's legs like he belongs there and, feeling a frantic hand catch his hair, lets himself be pulled down for a kiss. Crowley moans brokenly into it when the hunter finally slides inside him, wrapping himself around Bobby like an octopus and thrusting back against him with completely human desperation. His hands are everywhere, stroking and grabbing and just touching, like he's memorizing the sensation. Bobby moves, gaining momentum and shifting angles until Crowley cries out and locks his ankles behind the hunter, rambling disjointedly:

"There, oh- god, yes, there, more there, more, more, Bobby,  _Bobby_ -!"

Bobby hammers frenetically at him, losing rhythm and control as he twines his fingers into the smaller man's hair, grunting his name and letting out an honest-to-god inhuman yell as he feels heat spatter his chest, feels everything around him tighten and loses himself into that tightness.

He manages to keep thrusting, to keep brushing that spot that makes Crowley shiver and clutch at him, until it's too much, and he pulls out. He falls against the mattress, exhausted but strangely giddy, and weirdly close to content. The demon curls up next to him, looking about the same.

Bobby summons up the last of his brain cells and asks carefully, "I am the one person, right?"

There's a lengthy pause filled with steadily slowing breath and puzzlement on the demon's part, then a "...What?"

"What I said earlier," Bobby mutters. "About me bein' the only person you trust enough to do...  _this_  with. It is just me, right? Or have you got a horde of limey wenches tucked away somewhere? Yer a demon after all, I guess it would make sense..."

"Bobby Singer, are you  _jealous_?" Crowley rolls onto his side, propping himself up on one arm to fix the human with a look that says 'I find your emotions hilarious'.

" _No_ ," Bobby spits venomously, turning his back to the ungrateful little bastard.

Said bastard laughs and draws a line down the hunter's spine. "Darling, you know I adore getting a rise out of you. Of course you're the only one. Who else would put up with me?"

Bobby 'harrumph's but there's no acid to it- he's getting pretty sleepy, to be honest, and the fingers tracing patterns on his back aren't helping. He can't resist adding, "Seems kinda sad that the goddamn King of Hell-"

"Ex-King."

" _Ex_ -King of Hell had to settle for somebody like me just for a little nookie," Bobby finishes, feeling huffy and disliking himself immensely for it.

Crowley chuckles, slings an arm over the grouchy human, and practically purrs in his ear, "Oh, Mister Singer, I couldn't possibly do any better than you."


End file.
